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YE nymphs ! if e’er: your eyes were red With tears o'er hapless fav'rites shed,
Oh share Maria's grief! Her fav’rite, even in his cage, (What will not hunger's cruel rage ?
Assassin'd by a thief.
Where Rhenus strays his vines among,
And though by nature mute,
Of flagelet or flute.
The honours of his ebon poll
His bosom of the hue
sweep up all the dew..
Above, below, in all the house,
No cát had leave to dwell; And Bully's cage supported stood, On props of smoothest-shaven wood
Large-built and lattic'd well
Well-lattic'd—but the grate, alas !
For Bully's plumage sake,
The swains their baskets make.
Night veil'd the pole. All seem'd secure
Subsistence to provide,
And badger-colour'd hide,
He, ent'ring at the study-door,
And something in the wind
Food, chiefly, for the mind.
Just then, by adverse fate impress'd,
In sleep he seem'd to view
Awoke and found it true,
For, aided both by ear and scent,
Ah, muse! forbear to speak
Minute the horrors that ensued;
He left poor Bully's beak.
He left it but he should have ta’en
Of such mellifluous tone,
Fast set within his own.